Deal with the Devil
by fandombloggingaddict
Summary: Eliot Spencer had been on a job in Miami, using his name, needing the rep for an old contact. Michael Westen and crew take him down and hold him for interrogation, as their client claims to have lost his family to the hitter. Michael, Sam, and Fiona have little hesitation handing Eliot off to Moreau at Carla's request. But they don't know until too late that all is not as it seems.


The blindfold that Sam forced over the bound man's head was stifling, and the darkness was less than helpful when he needed to asses the situation. Someone grabbed his shoulder roughly and he jerked, struggling against his bindings.

"Woah, no need to get feisty," the ex-Navy Seal said coldly. Usually his tone was light and almost apologetic. But since he had 'found out' that his captive had been killing soldiers and their families for the past six months, he'd been itching to give the hitman a taste of what he'd thought was so easy to snuff out. The guy didn't rise to the bait, though. He stilled in the grip of the Seal, tense as ever.

"How's it going with our guest?" Michael greeted as he pulled open the storage container's door and entered.

"He knows something, Mike," Sam stepped up to his friend and muttered, "and he could use some persuasion."

"You're the expert," The spy replied. Without hesitation, the Seal stalked up to the guy tied to the chair and punched him square in the jaw. He went on to beat the guy for a while - until he had to stop to shake the ache from his knuckles. And the blood. He was sure if Mike had stayed behind to supervise, he would have stopped him before the captive had blood dripping from his lips and nose. The man tried to double over, but his bindings kept him strictly secure.

"Is it really worth it to protect your boss?" Sam asked conversationally. "I'm tellin' ya, you hold out like this for much longer, and I can't promise that you'll make it out of here in one piece."

The guy didn't even respond, he just straightened up and cracked his neck, then squared his shoulders. He was ready for round two.

"Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you." Sam went to the door, knocked once, and returned to his captive. Moments later, Fiona walked in. She joined Sam in front of the bound man.

"This is the guy?" She asked skeptically.

"Yup," Sam confirmed.

"Well, he doesn't look very important." She moved toward the man in question and straddled him. She leaned into the guy - he was actually kind of cute. "You're just a grunt, aren't you? Following orders." Fi leaned in and said softly.

The man tried to pull away from her, but she leaned in further. "Now, why don't you just tell us who gave you those orders, and we'll let you go!" Her tone was bright.

The man's lip curled in a snarl and he growled, no less fierce looking with a blindfold tied around his head.

Fiona's tone turned sour as she replied in kind. "Wrong answer." Her hands grabbed his neck and she strangled him, rising to her knees beside his thighs on the seat to gain leverage. She put all of her strength into it - quite a lot for a petite woman - and he held out for an admirable thirty seconds before he jerked. His oxygen-starved brain kicked his body into instinctive mode and he struggled. He needed air, and she happily denied it. In most circumstances, Sam would have stopped her by now, but he seriously hated wet-workers that slaughtered good men, so he let her have her fun. And maybe it would get this guy to understand his position in all of this.

The bound man bucked, but Fi didn't move. When his jerking lost its strength and he was blacking out, Fi waited a few more seconds, then let go. He gasped desperately, his breathing rough and shallow. He coughed and wheezed but quickly got himself under control. Fiona grabbed a handful of his long hair and forced his head back, pulling his neck taut. He still breathed haggardly. She traced his neck and jaw lightly with a finger, especially across the slowly forming bruise across his throat. "Now, are you feeling more cooperative?"

No response.

She pulled a knife from her belt and pressed it to his neck. He didn't flinch at the feeling of the dangerous, cold metal like she'd hoped, but his breath was suddenly more shallow. "Who do you work for?" She pressed the blade down and a bead of blood was drawn. She waited for a response, pressed the knife more, and grew impatient as the blood trickled down his skin before he responded. But when he did, it wasn't what she'd wanted.

He chuckled.

"Why are you laughing?" She whined bitterly.

"Remind me of someone."

"That's it, this guy obviously wants to die." Sam pulled a gun from his waistband and held it to the captive's temple. He cocked it.

The guy didn't flinch. With a huff of annoyance, Sam pulled the trigger.

The guy jerked, but nothing happened. The chamber was empty. Sam laughed coldly, then leaned in to utter, "You're not getting out of this that easily."

Sam strode to the door. Fiona untangled herself from the captive and promptly followed. The metal door slammed shut and was locked.

~

"Mikey, this guy's not giving us much. He even regulates his breathing in spite of bruised ribs. We need to do some research, get some intel on him. He's not just some grunt like Fiona thinks."

"Hey, I only said that to belittle him. I was following your lead," She pointed her spoon at him accusingly before dipping it back into the blueberry yogurt.

"Where do you suggest we start?" Michael asked, staying on task.

"He was probably in the Army, but he's got instincts like a hardened criminal. Let's start with hitmen that have some big jobs to their names. Heists, hits, high risk and skill stuff."

"Good. I'll get started with some of our files. Why don't you go talk to your connections?"

"Aw, Mike, I gotta whip out the connections already? What about investigating a little first? Some day soon, I won't have any more favors to call in!"

Michael looked exasperated. "Is it really that hard to be treated to a free lunch?"

"It is when it might be my last!"

"Fine, we'll take our time. But if we don't have results by tomorrow morning, I'm calling Carla for some intel. This guy could be a big playing card."

"Oh, he is." A woman confirmed from the doorway.

"Carla! What a pleasure." Michael greeted with fake congeniality, as per usual in conversations with the powerful woman. "Come on in."

"Thank you, Michael." She replied in kind, nodding her head. "I'll get right to the point here. You have a very notorious man in that storage container."

"Doesn't seem all that notorious to me," Fi grumbled.

"He wouldn't. Eliot Spencer's discretion is the main reason he's still alive."

"Eliot Spencer?" Michael confirmed. "Eliot Spencer, retrieval specialist and wetworker?"

"Yes, and it seems he's been out of the game for a while. Or, at least, his previous bosses seem to think so. But there is chatter. It may be that he hasn't been inactive, but rather more cautious."

"No wonder, Damien Moreau has been calling for his blood since he was crossed in San Lorenzo!" Fiona cried. "Spencer's a dead man if Moreau manages to get out. A lot of people are."

"That's what brings me here. Having Spencer alone is cause for concern - I don't want to find my favorite spy and his little friends slaughtered because they didn't know who they were holding in their backyard." Her mock worry faded as she continued. "But, in fact, Damien Moreau has just escaped, and very quietly. Only my people have gotten wind of this, and I think it could be very useful."

"Moreau is the most powerful man in the criminal underworld, and you think we can use him as a pawn?" Sam said incredulously. "Lady, you are out of your mind."

"She's saying that Spencer is our pawn. Moreau wants revenge, and we have his key to it. We have the only thing that the world's most powerful criminal wants."

"Very good, Michael. Yes, Spencer is valuable to Moreau. And Moreau is valuable to me. That is why I have reached out to him personally." Carla raised her eyebrows, then stepped further in to clear the doorway. Damien Moreau strode right in.

"Christ, Mike, she brought Damien Moreau right into your place!" Sam muttered, standing next to his friend now.

"She has a dangerous sense of humor," The burned spy replied quietly before stepping toward his guest.

"Michael Westen, you are quite the busy body. Nice to see that you are still working, fighting the good fight." His Croatian accent in tandem with the sly tone made his powerful standing clear. Damien smiled, charming yet predatory. "Always causing trouble. Now, I understand that you have something that I need." His smile dropped in an instant and his eyes glinted with barely contained rage. "Where is he?"

"Outside. Allow me," The spy offered as he led the way to the container outside, shooting an annoyed glance at Carla..

The metal door creaked open reluctantly as Michael pulled it open for Moreau. The criminal stared at the man tied to the chair that faced away from the doors. Evaluating. Then, he strode forward silently. Michael followed and came around front to watch the proceedings of their 'offering'. Whatever deal Carla had made with Moreau for this, it must have been incredibly valuable. The criminal mastermind stood behind the captive and laid his hands possessively on his shoulders, by his throat. Spencer didn't startle, he'd heard someone coming. He just waited for another interrogation.

The criminal leaned down and bent to whisper into his ear. "How I've missed this, Eliot."

And that's exactly what it took to make the killer jump.

Spencer started fighting. He tried to twist from his former employer's grip and tugged against the restraints. Moreau ran his hand through the fighting man's long hair, carding through it softly, then grabbed a handful of it and yanked the hitter's head back, baring his neck. The criminal leaned in and inhaled deeply.

"Yes, I have missed this very much. Why, El, the fear is practically radiating off of your skin." His grip on Eliot's hair tightened and he pulled a little harder. "If you honestly thought that little cage in San Lorenzo could hold me, then you really have gone soft." Moreau loved that his prey was blindfolded - he knew Eliot hated to have the disadvantage, especially with such a dangerous man in the room - and having no sight was the biggest disadvantage a man could have with Damien Moreau in control.

The criminal's chilling patience seemed to be running thin, though. He wanted to get Spencer in one of his own cells, under his hand, now. Moreau's hands left the captive and he stood straight, addressing Michael.

"You are aware of the deal?"

"I am," The spy nodded.

"Then my men will be here presently to take him." He stepped forward and with a smile similar to that of a shark about to feed he said, "Pleasure doing business."

They shook hands and Moreau left.

Michael was about to follow when the prisoner's head perked up.

"Westen."

Michael stopped. "Spencer."

"You don't know what you're doing."

"Let me guess, this is a terrible mistake and I should let you go because you're not who I think you are?"

The hitter chuckled lowly, almost growling. "Naw. I'm exactly who you think. And it'd be a mistake to let me go, since I just might knock out your friend Sam." His tone went deadly low. "But if you think you're savin' lives by handin' me over to him... you're not gonna get outta this deal alive. He doesn't like loose ends, especially dumbass ones."

Michel sighed and walked back to face the blindfolded man, who was now constantly twisting his wrists against the ropes binding him to the chair. "You're one of the most notorious criminals active in the past three decades. You've killed, tortured, abducted, stolen priceless items. Several countries have a warrant on your head and Damien Moreau personally wants to slit your throat. There is no reason to keep you from him."

Spencer growled in frustration and with an audible hint of panic. "Listen, it ain't what you think. It's different now, I got people to protect and I cain't do it from a Croatian dungeon. This ain't as simple as bad guys and good guys. You should get that after you got burned yourself."

Michael simply walked away, unimpressed. He didn't have time for Carla's business.

Spencer was pulling at his bindings harder now, ignoring the stinging feeling of rope cutting into his skin. "You can't do this!" He hissed. "You're killing them!"

Michael stopped walking to the exit. Eliot's head tilted a bit as he heard the footsteps stop.

The spy returned to the captive and faced him. "I'm supposed to believe that you're a changed man now?"

Eliot's struggling never ceased. "Family does that to you," He answered quietly.

"I'm sure your family is safer without you, Spencer. If you really cared about them, you would go quietly."

Michael left. Eliot paused at those words and thought hard on his position.

He stopped struggling.

~

Sam, Fiona, and Michael watched from the top landing of the stairs outside as the limp form of Eliot Spencer - drugged unconscious, blindfolded, and shackled - was dragged to a moving truck and thrown in the back, five armed guards climbing in to secure him to the floor with a padlock, set to guard him for the ride.

The trio did not miss the fact that Spencer was is much worse shape than before he'd been handed over to Moreau. In the hour Moreau had taken with his men to prepare for the mini transport, he'd apparently taken some time to get started on the hitman. From their viewpoint, Michael saw a dislocated shoulder, a probable broken leg, and some blood. It looked like Moreau made his hits - or his men's hits - count. Didn't look like there were any minor injuries, and every bruise looked to be covering a broken bone.

It was hard to feel bad for a killer, no matter how screwed he was.

Later, Sam went down to kick some dust over the thin trail of blood left behind before heading out to buy yogurt and beer.

~

"Well done, Michael. Not only did you capture Spencer, but you completed a deal that will very much work for us."

"Yeah, except there is no 'us'. And next time you want to welcome a criminal into my place, why not give me a heads up?"

"Oh," The blonde pouted, "I thought you liked surprises.

"Don't do it again, got it, missy?" Sam gestured at her with a half-empty beer.

She sighed and walked back toward the door to leave. "Buzzkill."

~

A week passed, with nothing more notable happening other than taking on and completing a job for one of Michael's clients.

Then, one morning out of the blue, a man barged in. In a split second, three guns were cocked and trained on the intruder. Michael walked out from behind the counter and joined Fiona and Sam in aiming at the now frozen man. He was young, black, and lean. Not to mention, pissed. His hands shot in the air in surrender as he saw the guns. He was wide-eyed with anxiety under the threat, but after a second, his gaze hardened.

Michael's head tilted a bit as each second watching the intruder gave him more strange observations. "Can we help you?"

"Michael Westen." The man said accusingly. "Yeah, you can help me."

"And how might that be?" Fiona quipped curiously.

The man glanced at her before looking back to the burned spy. "You can tell me where you buried my friend."

Michael, Fiona, and Sam exchanged clueless looks. "Uh, right," Sam's brows furrowed, "Listen, we don't even know who you are. Who is it that we-"

"Killed. Y'all killed him, and to be honest, the guns aren't necessary. He was the fighter, I'm just a hacker."

"Who was your friend?" Fi sighed.

The man suddenly looked so sad and angry as he lowered his arms, narrowing his eyes. "Eliot Spencer."

The three holding guns just looked more confused. Spencer? The mercenary they'd handed over to a warlord? They hadn't expected any 'friends' of his to miss the criminal.

"I... think we need to straighten this out." Michael decided.

"Yeah, good idea Mikey. Want a beer?" Sam offered to the stranger by the door, lowering his gun. Michael followed suit, along with a reluctant Fiona. The stranger scoffed and walked farther in, shutting the door behind him.

"So, let's start from the beginning. Who are you?" Michael asked the man.

"Name's Hardison, I'm a hacker. I'm in this team that basically cons bad guys into returning what they stole from innocent people. Five of us, we help people. We were criminals, but now we good." He glared at Michael. "And Eliot was our hitter. We don't care what he did in the past, he's- he was a good guy. And we needed him. But he came down here to this god-forsaken place - what is it, a hundred degrees out there? - he came down here to do a job. Just a side-job in his off time." Hardison laughed bitterly. "He called it an errand, nothing to worry about. And he would never take on something dangerous because..." He needed a moment and squeezed his eyes shut. "Like I said, we needed him. And when he didn't come back, we waited and looked, but he was just gone. So we took another job. It was stupid, damn rookie move to go in a place like that without a hitter. But we got cocky, and we slipped up. We almost didn't make it out. And Parker, she..." Hardison opened his eyes, fixing them on the spy's. "I tracked him to Miami. Did some more digging, found footage from a security camera of you and your man here dragging him away and throwing him in a goddamn car trunk."

"Wait a minute here, you can't look at something like that and just assume we-" Sam was cut off.

"You'd have to kill Eliot to get him to abandon us. He took our safety more seriously than he did his own, and that's really saying something, 'cause that guy was paranoid as hell. Nah, if anyone else grabbed him, he would'a made it back, but Michael Westen? I read your files, the government memos. You wouldn't want any loose ends, would you?" Hardison shook his head in despair. "Didn't jus' kill a good man, you almost killed us, taking him."

Sam rolled his eyes and took a step back. "Okay, I've had enough of this. First off, Mike was framed with everything in his file - don't trust everything you read. And, news flash: your friend's a killer, he'd been slaughtering soldiers PLUS their wives and kids for months. Maybe you should choose your friends more wisely."

Hardison turned on him with wide eyes, incredulous. "He was running a damn con, that was part of his cover! Were you even listening? YOU'RE the killers!" Hardison was fuming. "Maybe you should do some real fucking research before you murder people."

"Okay, stand down Sam," Michael said, holding up his hands placatingly. "We didn't kill anyone. But we didn't know what parts of our intel were a cover and what was the experience of a world-renowned retrieval specialist."

Hardison tensed and turned back to face Michael. He looked skeptical.

Fiona stood next to the hacker and laid her hand on his arm. "We didn't kill your friend."

Hardison pulled away. "You didn't- he's still alive?"

"Well, we didn't say that," Sam said lowly. "We don't know if he's alive. We actually handed him off."

"Great," The hacker rolled his eyes and ran his hands over his head. "Okay, so he's definitely dead. No one else could hold him for this long."

"Well, Moreau was a little too happy to see him... for his sake, I hope he isn't still alive." Fiona shrugged.

Hardison's knees gave out and he had to grab onto the counter to keep from falling. His other hand covered his eyes and he dragged in a deep breath. "This isn't happening." The other three were startled by the drastic response. "You did not beat him down, drag him back here, and hand him off to Damien Moreau."

"That's exactly what we did," Sam admitted, a foul feeling settling in his gut.

Hardison straightened up and looked the ex-SEAL in the eyes, conveying his terror. "Then he ain't dead. I gotta-" He spun on his heels and went for the front door. "I gotta call the team, we gotta save him."

"Wait, you're just going to track down Moreau and save your friend? How do you plan to do that?" Fiona called.

Hardison shot them a glare as he pulled the door open. "First, imma get as far as possible from you people."

"Your friend, Parker." Michael interjected. Hardison tensed. "Did she make it?"

"Barely," Hardison ground out between clenched teeth.

"You're down two people. Do you think you can really take on Moreau without them?"

"We'll die trying."

"That's exactly what Moreau wants." Sam supplied.

"Fine," Hardison conceded. "Fine. You're right. But I'm not leaving him with that man."

"And if there was a way to shut down Moreau for good..." Fiona posited.

Michael paused. "Moreau's dangerous."

"Come on, Mikey, we owe it to the guy!" Sam said.

The spy had to agree. "Alright, but we play it safe and clean. I don't want this blowing back on us."

Hardison just sighed. "Nate is not gonna like this."


End file.
